The Prince & The Princess
by Her Name Is Erika
Summary: Every tale has a beginning, middle & end. QuinnLogan. For Haley.


**A/N: Here. Enjoy. Here's the highly anticipated Quogan oneshot. This is dedicated to Haley. I wanted to give up on this piece, and when I nearly did, my conscience always told me not to. So thank you so much. It's different, switching POV's. Hopefully you don't get too confused.**

**Warning: Sprinkled with Quinn-induced Logan thought processes, most of which contain innuendo. So, the rating is like T+ - just putting it out there.**

**Disclaimer: Yes. I own the show – PSHCHE! **

* * *

**The Prince & The Princess**

**beginning: **

Quinn Pensky and Logan Reese are two unlikely people – opposite ends of the spectrum and of two completely different worlds.

He's the son of a Hollywood producer, having a modern-day upbringing of royalty. He grows up in the flashes of so many cameras, he acutely surprised that he's not blind yet. He's accustomed to the limos, and the riches while he grows spoiled and self-centered. But at least he has the "movie star good looks" to back it up. Ah, the magic of Beverly Hills.

And then in notoriously rainy Seattle is a child prodigy, the only child of a set of parents – her father's in real estate and her former-hippie mother is a yoga instructor. Contrary to her counterpart, she lives a very sheltered but joyous childhood, spending her young years exploring whatever the world has to offer, and seeing the world run like clockwork. Five year old Quinn can recite the elements of the periodic table plus all of its components backwards. By eight, her parents realized what aptitude their child has, scoring a total of 132 on an IQ test. By nine, she gets a rather odd pet, an alpaca named Otis, and by thirteen, she's at a boarding school. Her Quinnventions are becoming more and more notorious. Quinn's curiosity is always growing, getting bigger and bigger. By age sixteen, her hidden but overly apparent beauty is brought to light and so is her IQ to a total 177.

But two years of monogamous happiness is shattered.

Quinn never expects Logan to be the one to venture in, and pick up what has been broken. Even she never sees this coming.

Logan doesn't know what draws him to her.

Could it be that he can't look past the great sadness in her brown eyes – tears ever so slightly streaming down previously tear-stained cheeks accompanied by sniffles? Her face is splotched red from the residue of crying, but he, as insensitive, and as callous as he is, can't look away. They're not friends, but they're not acquaintances either. Logan believes that there's definitely something wrong when a girl cries.

Even if it is Quinn.

Weird, smart, brainy, I-make-robots-that-turn-yours-into-confetti, Quinn.

Something plants his butt on that wooden bench, like someone controls him like he's a puppet with no self-will. He looks at her, just asking her to talk to him. Say something. Say anything.

That _anything_ turns into her pouring everything out. Brooke Margolin _is_ hot, he won't dispute that but he's not really in the mood for parading around in a dress and heels that give him the beginnings of blisters. Quinn can't even begin to decipher why she's talking to him, letting this notorious selfish, egotistical person in. She expects him to ride away on his Jet-X, laughing at her tauntingly like nothing matters.

Quinn almost wants him to.

She wants him to say something like, "So, when Defiggalo is done with Brooke, he should take a backseat and watch how the master does it."

Why won't he do that? Logan Reese is not allowed to care in the slightest and mess up PCA's status quo.

But he never really abides by the rules anyway, she realizes. Logan is breaking the rules.

Quinn lets him put the glasses on her face, with a small but genuine smile. The least likely person has brought her back. Brought her from the not-so-logical, desperate-for-my-(ex)boyfriend back, heavy make-up wearing, lack-of-glasses, hair-flipping Quinn.

"Hey, there's Quinn…"

Quinn smiles, ever so slightly. If one blinks, it's gone. It's silent between them.

Does everything just stop around them? Does time just decide to spontaneously freeze into place like they're the only with motion?

They're kissing. Quinn and Logan are kissing!

_OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod_

Some unknown force magnetizes them. Teenage hormones running rampant are the most likely the cause. Electrons are frazzled, running around, stunning her nervous system. His gentle touch on her cheek, accelerating her circulatory system. His brain is screaming at him, yelling at him, but the sensation of Quinn's lips on his drowns that out.

Until the thud of hooves (does that blur equate to a…horse?) makes time play as normal, but they jerk back from each other, staring at each other as if to decipher what actually happens.

"Weirdest day ever."

"Uh huh…" she replies, slightly gaping at him.

Hopefully, if she moves to the farther end of the bench, she can disappear into the bench and forget, but when they catch the smallest of glances at each other, it's only the beginning.

Logan knows that. Quinn knows that.

--

**middle:**

It's awkward.

It's weird.

It feels great to be back in her own clothes, and just back to her logical, brainy, quirky self. But she's also a different, puzzling brand of Quinn Pensky: confused and latest girl to kiss Logan Reese. She can see why his lips are quite (in)famous, and girls spread the details around like a bad case of influenza. The longest of research notes can't unwind, and put this quite puzzling circumstance in perspective. If she weren't wearing her glasses, she would speculate on the notion that Logan looks just as awkward as she feels.

It's not speculation at all, and this is what they're reduced to. Logan doesn't have the patience to deal with James and Michael and answer why he nearly crashes his Jet-X, three times. Quinn can't bear to have Lola and Zoey stop playing the "let's-help-our-friend-because-she-was-dum (er, broken up with) –three-days-ago" façade.

Quinn isn't sure she can act like the wounded girlfriend when her brain is so largely twisted in all different directions. But she'll have to try.

Quinn will try because she can't make the fire so hazardous and so big that she can't put it out.

And if she can't put any fires (that she (in)avertedly starts) that it's big.

She's getting frustrated with him, herself, and everything in between. Her sleep is being disrupted. Quinn wants to push Brooke down a flight of stairs ever so discretely so it looks like she's accident-prone, or make her break out in a false form of chicken pox that only seems real. Oh, the microbial possibilities.

(Oh, right. She promised not to use her brains for evil.)

Quinn's getting frustrated, wanting to strangle this boy that has confused her so. At least, Mark is nursing a nasty yellowtail allergic reaction that makes that her only consolation. This is what she's reduced to: hiding with him in the most secluded part of the school because the rest of _them_ can't know.

(Poor him. Juanita couldn't fluff his hair? Oh darn.)

"Okay, I think we just need to agree on the fact that The Incident never happened," Quinn says, finally inhaling calmly because she's just so…ugh. She hates incoherencies. "That it was merely a reflex reaction that you kissed me and – "

"No way! That is not how it happened, and you know that. It was the other way around. Just be honest and say _you_ kissed _me_. I wouldn't blame you."

Narrowing her dangerously flashing eyes, she folds her arms across her chest, "I would do that if it were the truth, sadly it isn't," she stage-whispers just loud enough so the account of the encounter doesn't gain momentum to be set free, and carried by the wind to the ears of the student body.

But it is the truth.

There's no way his lips, his precious lips, could ever touch Quinn's. Sure, his attention has been snatched by her penetrating gaze, and the way she's looking like she could spit out fire, but he can't sleep. He can't think. Logan can't even vent properly while Juanita fluffs his hair because she's just a lunch lady – a lunch lady his hair seems to obey, but he can't tell anybody.

Oh, God. His reputation will be shot to the bottomless pit and below, so he keeps his psyche busy by laughing at the fact that Michael grieves over a horse. But if only he could have the ability not to wake up in cold sweats.

Quinn pinches the bridge of her nose, pushing out a sigh, "Look, this never happened, and even if we were to date, it would be too weird."

"And you dating Delfiggalo wasn't?"

(Stupid word vomit, and older sisters – and Haley was her name-o! – that trick their brothers into watching _Mean Girls_.)

"Oh, right. Brooke Margolin." (Hottish, remember…)

"Yeah," Quinn spits out bitterly, blinking back to the clear tears that make Logan inwardly flinch. That's a low blow, even for him, but can one blame him? He's not exactly an expert with the nice post-break up comfort thing. "Brooke."

He touches her arm lightly to get her attention because he really doesn't want her to start crying again. It makes him feel weird, and there's only so much weird he can handle.

"Look, that wasn't cool of me," he admits, awkwardly.

"Were you just trying to apologize?"

"No, I – " Logan can't do anything right, these past three days, and talking is one of them. He sighs, watching her scrutinize his intentions, and a clearly confused look graced her features. "I don't know, but…yeah…I guess we can forget about this whole 'us' thing."

Quinn nods, heart in her throat, "I agree. We'll forget about it." She gives him the tiniest of smiles, eyes sparkling. "But I'm oddly grateful to you, so thank you, Logan."

"Okay," he concedes, and before she realizes what she's doing, she's pressing her lips to his cheek.

(That's what grateful people do. It's insignificant – don't read too much into it! She can't. He won't.)

Quinn curses the blush that splays across her cheeks, and Logan will try his hardest to forget the tingling sensation caressing his cheek.

They walk away from each other in opposite directions, forgetting, erasing the past three days.

(Liar, liar, pants on fire.)

* * *

Flip the pages too slowly, and the suspense will kill you.  
Flip the pages too fast, and you get a stinging paper cut.  
How lucky do you feel?

* * *

Logan Reese has become the epitome of those he teases and taunts with minimal effort. The snickering and outright laughter comes easily, and the jabs and not so subtle insults roll off his tongue smoothly. Since when does Logan actually pay attention to the fact that her favourite colour is orange, and that hula hooping for her isn't a hobby, but a method of de-stressing? And when does he start Eskimo-kissing people when he's pretty sure he prefers kissing of the French variety?

(Oh, yeah. Pfft, they're too busy sucking down snails. Amateurs.)

"I swear, you have the prettiest eyes."

"Well, you have the cutest nose," Quinn replies, a smile growing on her face. It's been a nasty, but enjoyable and unexpected cycle of secret text messages and meetings they have to hide from the world, when hiding how they feel begins getting too difficult. A wide genuine smile is flashed her way and her intrigue of this seemingly (oh so slightly endearing) complex person grows at an all-time high.

"I know."

The interruption comes in the form of Michael texting and telling her that his Jet-X is being difficult and she has to hurry away to Physics class, while he has gym. On top of that, Quinn has this mysterious guy that she wants to open up and go beneath his shallow, superficial surface.

Logan surrenders to the fact that it's her eyes.

It's those warm brown sparkling pools that suck him in like a freaking vortex, relentlessly keeping him hostage and ensnared. Logan still has to make sense of it all.

"Let's just move on and forget this 'me and you' stuff happened."

(It's beyond insane. And it's even more insane that he enjoys her company. This _has_ to stop.)

Oh, how she tries.

Oh, how she desperately tries to forget how secretly sweet he is. How she tries to forget the kisses he rains upon her. How Quinn tries to forget his comforting words (or the valiant attempt) that make every discrepancy in her week appears small and trivial.

How Quinn tries.

And fails miserably.

"Yeah," she nods, for agreeing to forget for the seventh time is the charm, right? "I'm so on board with that."

Loud silence.

(Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.)

Looking adorably sheepish, Logan looks into those eyes again, and wishes he can walk away without missing Quinn in all her beautifully quirky glory.

"One more Eskimo kiss?"

"Okay!" Quinn replies, excitement in her voice. (Beautiful, effing hypnotizing eyes of hers, seriously stop gleaming like that. Not cool.)

Rubbing nose are lame, even though she giggles, and he laughs, grinning like an idiot.

But then again, Logan lies about not hating Delfiggalo as well.

* * *

Grab Webster's Dictionary, searching for _denial_.  
Quinn Pensky and Logan Reese.  
Lovely photo of these two, yes?

* * *

Attempt number eight of The Fact That I Like You Doesn't Exist drives them to become joint at the lips. It's their free time – Quinn finishes a biology exam in fifteen minutes and Logan enjoys his free period before they're both hurled into a world where they can't stand the very sight of each other and are forced to put up a shield of heated glares and empty, meaningless snide remarks.

Quinn smiles against her (er, what are they exactly?) ahem, acquaintance-she's-grown-a-mutual-attachment-to's lips, and pulled away looking at him.

"Okay obviously, neither of us is doing a good job of stopping this." (Attempt number eight and a half, right?)

"Yeah, but I'm not sure I want to stop."

He feels contented at the fact that she's smiling at him so brightly, but she's nervous because Quinn is finally accepting what their "relationship" signifies. Are they just two people that happen to be oddly attracted to each other? Are teenage hormones at work, making them deluded enough to break the mold?

"Well, if neither of us wants to stop this," she offers a nervous smile, her stomach flipping quite forcefully.

"Then we're dating?"

"Sorta."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

In a flurry of one-word answers, he asks her out. (It's more of a loose suggestion.)

As in an incoherent translation of, "Would you be my girlfriend, I guess? I kinda, sorta, maybe, like you."

Logan has to actually see if this is like all the other dreams he has. He has to see if this is just another one of those fantasy-type things of Quinn his subconscious actually weaves together to taunt and pleasure him at the same time. How freaking ironic. His brain is so wired to hers now, and he finds himself watching her twist her hips around in a smooth circular continuous motion just to keep the colourful hoop of plastic in motion.

And her tinkling laughter just plays in his head, long after he's spewed out some insult before leaving and hoping he finds his sanity in the Lost & Found.

(It's leaning towards being more lost in actuality.)

It's odd how Quinn's smile falls, and her eyes are boring into his, wanting to read into him, staring right through him. He almost wishes he were emotionless or heartless so her penetrating haze would just effortlessly slice right through him, and that would be it. Logan can keep that one offending thought to himself, and she would never know. But sadly, this isn't the case.

She knows. She knows everything, and sort of he hates that.

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm not thinking anything," he answers, a bit too quickly.

"Yes, you are."

"Quinn."

Why does she have to be so sexily persistent? Oh, God. Why?

"You're thinking something and I want to know what it is."

"Let it go," he says, shortly. If only shaking her is that easy. Many things come easy to him, and this is the one time she can't just let this go. His head and thoughts all together aren't even that clean anyway, unless she wants to know that recurring circus dream in which Quinn's the flexible contortionist tightrope walker girl wearing tight spandex that clings to her body and –

"No tellin', no kissin'," Quinn threatens, and he can't even begin to expand on how evilly sadistic that is. To play on his weakness, just so that she can get an answer out of him, and keep that small thought at bay just for a little while. She quirks a challenging eyebrow, and his stubborn grip on the resolve he's made up is shaken and slips between his fingers. "Tell me!"

"Alright! I'm embarrassed to be dating you."

(Is it raining painful co-ordinated lasers, electronically directed to kill him?)

"Really?" Oh, God. She sounds hurt and shocked, and if she starts crying again, he'll just slit his handsome, perfectly made wrists and end it. He seriously can't handle anymore tears from her. It's unnerving.

"Yes! I can't believe you made me say it."

"What? I'm thrilled you said it! I'm embarrassed to be dating you too!"

His brow furrow in genuine confusion, strengthening his claim that girls are just weird, "Huh? Seriously?"

"Yes!" Quinn answers, wide grin in place. "Super embarrassed. If anyone found out, I'd die!"

"I know how you feel!"

For once, Logan Reese and the word ass can't be placed in the same sentence or line of syllables. No, they can't. He feels the weight of the world disappear, and they go into an embrace. Arms around his neck, he wraps his arms around her (hula hooping, winding, twisting) waist. Her scent is like a drug he just has to have. No shooting up required. Quinn likes being in Logan's arms, strong and safe. Logan is addicted (yes, he is), until the baritone voice of his roommate breaks him from his high, and he comes down.

And comes hard.

He can't let a Quinn-addict fully indulge in a perfectly good hit of a girlfriend?

(There's a reason, a precognitive reason why Logan and James hide those annoying clackers.)

So, the romantic paranoia and "arguments" begin…now.

* * *

Oh, the tension between them.  
The hot glares, the yells that radiate their attraction.  
Oh, to be a fly on the wall.  
Warning: Pages may evaporate and give off steam & warm fuzzy feelings.  
Dare to risk it?

* * *

It's a ritual between them.

It's a ritual that's short and fairly new (like the whole 'me and you' prospect), but Logan and Quinn do this almost every time, they "argue".

Currently, the couple is in another of their secluded meeting places, using the height of the buildings to envelope them. They run, sprint, trying to appear like blurs as they attempt to reach this spot. The other side of the campus is their covering, behind some obscenely large buildings. Logan is kissing her, the kiss powerful enough to make Quinn seem intoxicated with so many emotions rushing at her at once. He smirks, making her moan in his mouth, as she cups his face returning the gesture.

Good, always-good-grades, book smart Quinn.

She's never experienced anything this deep, this sentimental, this touching, yet Logan's lips are trailing the tender skin of her collarbone, feeling his teeth about to latch on the tender skin, making her moan again.

"I can't afford a hickey, Logan," her voice sounding and all breathy, and disjointed. The paranoia and the prospect of Michael possibly knowing about her relationship suddenly melts away. "Be careful."

(Logan is positively buzzed out of his mind. Quinn holds his mind in her pretty little hands. He doesn't want it back yet.)

He grunts against her skin, as his response before he finds her lips again, and she kisses them so hard he's almost (a very thin, slight almost) positive that they'll bruised.

Oh, God. What is her tongue doing?

(Winding against his, stroking his, twisting…mmm, Quinn with hula hoops.)

She plays with the little standing hairs at the back of his neck, indulging in the reaction she gets out of him. Ah, fate is indeed cruel because Michael and James are there, so he can't take her right then and there. He wants to, while she yells at him. Eyes flashing with that oh so discrete, come hither stare, they yell, and argue with each other.

Pulling away first, Logan blinks, "Where did you learn to do that with your tongue?"

"Ah," she wags her finger, mysteriously. "Kissing and telling isn't allowed, even if it is you."

"Oh, come on. I, at least, have to break down your technique."

"Nope," Quinn shakes her head, smile tugging at her lips before it falters slightly. Her face is etched with worry, and Logan regrets hiding those clackers. At least, if he knows where they are, he can strangle Michael with the thing he loves, then he can keep Michael from wrecking this.

(Orange jumpsuits look hideous on him. Okay, scrap that idea.)

"Seriously, what if Michael knows?"

"What if he doesn't?"

"But we still have to make sure," she so has to get rid of the knot in her stomach. Quinn grabs his shoulders, making him look at her. "Logan, I like you, but we just started, and I'm not ready. You even said yourself that Michael is incapable of keeping a secret. Are you ready to be exposed as a couple so soon?"

"No way!" is his immediate answer. (Silencing Michael with a couple of clackers is quite tempting). He can't say no because before he even form an objection, she's discreetly yanking him out of their hiding place before she lets go of his wrist. Quinn has to know. It's just the way she's naturally built, her tenacity and curiosity are quite large for someone who's just sixteen, but it helps her take apart an entire Jet-X before putting it back together again. They're walking through the halls of Maxwell, and it's planned.

They'll distance themselves – far enough so Logan and Quinn give off the I-Hate-You vibe well enough, and close enough so that they appreciate each other's presence no matter how small.

"Quinn, this is a bad idea. He'll know if we _ask_ him he knows."

She's nervous and wishes those hydrochloric acids in her stomach would be stationery.

"But we can't risk the whole school knowing that – " her sentence is cut off abruptly, when a kid slows down his pace to stare at them. Quinn yells loud enough everyone to hear. "I hate your guts!"

(She's Quinn Pensky. She'll roar pretty damn loud to keep this secret under wraps.)

"You witch!"

The kid speeds up, knowing there's nothing to see.

Letting out a small breath, she realizes she's holding, she lets it out, smiling proudly at her boyfriend, "Nice."

He nods, returning it, "You too."

They walk in to find Michael clacking to himself. Every seconds passes with every clack, and if he does know, Logan is so not prepared to kiss Michael's ass and grovel. He can't grovel, and his stomach clenches quite hardly just thinking about it: the suspicious looks, the whispers, and the prying eyes. Superficially, he can only think what that will do to him, but looking at the girl next to him and it sort of makes his heart kind of hurt – very lightly but it hurts.

(Okay, okay. Logan kinda, maybe, sort of digs her.)

Soon, it's like everything slows down, when they interrogate him, asking him if he knows. Logan's hand is itching to find hers, and Quinn just wants to be alone with him, but it's her first time being in something this deep, this sentimental, this…real. Everything slowing down and suddenly she wants to disappear into the carpet, and melt away. Maybe if she works hard enough on that mini time machine, Quinn will successfully break the time space continuum barrier or something.

Or she can just do her nerve-pinching-knock out thing, make him forget, and then Logan will leave Michael alone to happily clack when he's NOT in the room.

It beats his previous plan, and he tried to keep the alarm in his face, even though a small reminiscent smile wants to force its way through.

Pensky & Reese –

Reese & Pensky – ahem, ladies first!

(Fine, he'll concedes with a slight sign of a grumble, Pensky & Reese)

But yeah, awesomest Let's-Keep-Our-Relationship-A-Secret Tag Team ever. And the only one.

Everything starts moving in normal time.

Michael's clacking while laughing in disbelief, and everything is okay.

(Logan can go back to playing that hula hooping image in his head again. It'll tide him over when Quinn leaves.)

* * *

Pressing fast forward is a choice.  
A choice is something one doesn't have.  
Especially if the anticipation builds for the happily ever after.  
In theory, sort of.

* * *

Logan finds that keeping this secret is quite straining and painful for him.

He realizes the potential Quinn has to play soccer by launching a wide field kick to his head.

(Brain damage a la GF, anyone?)

Vince Blake comes back, all nice, and no comeuppance. She catches his gaze, shaking her head as if to question how he manages to get himself into predicaments like these. She almost blows it, defending him in public and that's when Quinn realizes keeping up the façade of dislike is not as easy as it seems in the beginning, as she runs of things to dislike about her boyfriend. He's not perfect, but neither is anyone else on the six billion populated planet.

(Mustard and croutons? Seriously?)

Sometimes, he's furious about five-hundred dollars and their family of lobsters going down the toilet, and then it seems quite small and it's all worth it to see her smile when they escape PCA's walls the next weekend with the strongest of alibis – the Albert Einstein Expo is in town, and Malcolm needs Logan home immediately – just so they could be together at a _We The Kings_ concert. The music is pumping, blending with the screams of many other fans, but they're having all the fun in the world.

"Check Yes Juliet, here's the countdown."

"Three, two, one," Logan sings back, softly when they're together again at PCA, hiding in secrecy like it's second nature. In all truth, it is second nature, like they're programmed that way. He wraps his arms around her, looking up at the stars on a nice California night, but kissing her temple lightly. He whispers the last part against her lips. "Now fall in my arms now – well, my lips actually…"

A soft laugh escapes her, when she pats his arm, "I'd love to. Quick goodnight kiss before they realize I'm not in the bathroom anymore."

And Logan wastes no time in capturing her lips with his own.

But Quinn hurts him when she freezes him out for the past three days, because of coffee. He spends over two-thousand dollars on coffee, isn't that enough torture for him? He can't exactly play the same Quinn-fantasy in his "special channel" so he tries to piece together a Catwoman thing. The way she's glowering at him right now, looking like she's about to kill him right there, or breathe fire, is oddly attractive.

(Did an attractive yet angry girl loose a slinky black whip? Oh, wow, he's going to hell for having some dominatrix-like things running through his head.)

Oh, yeah.

Quinn's going to pounce on him, tear his clothes off magically like an expert, and have her way with him (she's pissed off, duh). He's going to wonder where the hell she attains silver handcuffs from while she cuffs him to the bedposts and –

"Okay, you have five minutes before I walk away and possibly don't come back."

"Can we just move on?"

"Absolutely not!" she retorts, mindful of the minimal amount of students around, too jubilant in the return of their precious caffeine to focus on their situation. "Nine dollars for coffee, Logan, and on top of that, you tried to run us – your own girlfriend out of business. Coffee may seem petty and trivial, but it's upsetting because you changed back into someone I didn't want."

"I had a reason for doing the refusing-you-coffee thing. If I just handed you free coffee, people would suspect something."

Quinn has to pause and think about the authenticity of his logic, and is impressed, only mildly. She still glares but it's not as concentrated, and her frown isn't as deep, but she's annoyed with him, but before she can say anything, he opens his mouth again.

"Look, I'm just going to say that I was stupid, and you know…I'm…"

Quinn raises an expectant eyebrow, "You're?"

He sighs, chronically terrible with apologizes and admissions of being wrong. He's always wired to think, "Logan Reese never apologizes. Logan Reese never kisses the same girl twice. Logan Reese doesn't care about if a girl mad at him or adores him. Either way: get in line, honey."

"I'm sorry, okay? It was stupid of me, and paying two thousand dollars for coffee was painful."

She falters, completely, kissing his lips, "Serves you right. And," she laughs, with a semi-flirtatious wink. "If it were me that bit your ear instead of Lola, I would've been gentler."

(Oh, he's rubbing off on her. He's so proud.)

--

**end:**

She's sitting at the lounge, watching iCarly and is quite impressed with her cousin, Freddie's technical work. It gets a giggle out of her, and maybe, just maybe, she should rig her dorm room so Zoey and Lola can randomly dance with her at random times. Maybe she could pay a visit to her Aunt Marissa, but Quinn fears her in the slightest – okay, a lot.

(Those cucumber cups create an unpleasant taste in her mouth even though they get crates for the Holidays.)

But iCarly is over, and Lola (her BFF!) walks into the lounge, eyes sparkling and her speech increased at a hundred miles a minute. Reacting to the news of Lola being given the task of being in charge of prom, Quinn can't help but be excited for her friend, until her smile falls completely.

"Will you do everything for me?"

"No."

"Aw, boo."

(Ah, poor Stacy. Duped into doing Lola's laundry while sleeps. She's used her "acting powers" for evil. Again.)

Logan's got a date.

It's easy, and quick, and he won't even care about his date long enough. As long as he gets to see Quinn, nothing can possibly kill his quite good mood. Not even Hurricane Martinez can kill his buzz, so for once; he tries to be nice and greets her with a simple, "Hey."

Cue typical look of disgust and breezing right by him like he's not standing there, "Ew."

Oh, well. So much for being nice to her. She's obviously deaf to that.

(Well, you know what? Ew, yourself, Lola.)

"Hi," he greets, sitting his bag down, obviously tired from a long day. All this talk about prom makes him irate because he can't even take the girl he wants. Logan wonders if he has enough money to shut the entire student body up if they do show up together. Quinn acknowledges him with a small smile, and a wave. Logan sits, telling her the news. "I got a date to the prom."

"Already? Who?" her curiosity gets the better of her the infinite time. She closes her laptop cover down, wanting to hear the details about the girl who's going to be dancing with her boyfriend all night. The thought is upsetting, but it's an agreement – a mature, legitimate agreement, so Quinn is willing to set all ill-feelings aside.

Whether or not, Mystery Girl is "unexpectedly" stung by "bees" is a toss-up.

"Mandy Franklin."

Ignore everything about pushing all ill-feelings aside, and accepting the fact that "Frenchin' Franklin" will be with Logan, HER Logan –

Ahem.

"Mandy – " she cuts herself off, because she'll scream quite loudly if she doesn't stop it here. Quinn will scream and then go after that serial kisser with her own bare hands, depending on sheer female instinct and for once, not on science and how many times she'll have to zap Mandy until said person disappears into oblivion.

Standing up, Quinn grabs Logan's wrist, not regarding who may see, as it's very quick, and with the blink of an eye, it's gone. Stopping at the corner of the lounge, Quinn drops his wrist, and faces him, completely (if not partially) livid.

"What?"

"How could you ask _Mandy Franklin_ to the prom?"

Her own tongue may be diseased from just mentioning the name.

"What?" Logan questions, innocently. (He swears on a pile of broken mirrors he does nothing wrong this time. Let the Webcam thing go!) "You said we should both ask somebody else to prom so no one suspects we're dating."

"Shh!" Quinn hushes, harshly, anger still coursing through her. Now, she left with a decision of whether to kill Logan or kiss him because he looks adorable awkward, but that's not the point. Mandy and her recurring cold sores are not allowed to be anywhere near Logan. "Yes, but you're not taking Make Out Mandy! Go cancel her!"

(And her inevitable case of Venereal Disease.)

"Oh, come on!" he groans, with a slight roll of his eyes, while firmly places her hands on her hips. Quinn's not going to budge, and neither will he. "I have to get your approval on who I ask?"

"Absolutely!"

"Okay, fine, you have to get my approval on who _you_ ask!"

"Fine!" Quinn rebuts. She's glaring, still deciding. He's standing just taking in the look of this jealous Quinn. She crosses her arms. "You're so irritating, sometimes!"

(Endearingly irritating.)

"Wanna go make-out?"

(Oh, jealousy is so sexy.)

"Yes," she answers, grumpily, and realizes Logan is just the way he is, by flashing her a playful smirk before he grabs her arm, her bag with her laptop, his bag and Quinn's giggles can be as they run out of the crowded lounge where their place is just that. For them.

Judging by Quinn's giggles, she decides to kiss him.

xxx

A couple days pass and Logan and Quinn decide to scope out dates from among some bushes.

"What about that girl over there?"

A blonde girl with tanned skin, and white teeth (stupid bright, attractive smile), Quinn shakes her head, concluding that she's too pretty for him. Quinn will so get him back and scopes out a guy with no shirt, pressing a dumbbell. He's quite attractive, so if Logan gets to go with Barbie, she has to go out with Attractive Shirtless Guy.

"You are not going to the dance with Shirtless Dave!"

(Pfft, stupid fake tan. Come on, dude, drop the freaking dumbbell so he can laugh at your misery.)

They chase James away because as harsh as it is, no one cares about his thing with Zoey whatever it may be. Quinn purposely sticks a bottle of Blix in her mouth so she can't tell him about the case of "I Love You" she's apparently battling and denying badly.

"I can always count on help from you," James says, sarcastically before leaving.

(Oh, that was too fucking close. Oh, hell is right.)

"Will you let me pick a date for the prom already?" Logan questions, frustrated.

"No!" comes his girlfriend's sharp reply. "We're never going to agree if we pick our own dates, so let's just pick each other's?"

"What? Like you pick my date, and I pick yours?"

"Yeah. That way you'll be okay whoever you take, and you'll be okay with who I take."

"Okay," he concludes, finally. "I guess that's fair. But can I at least give you an idea on who I'd like to take?"

(Not Mandy Franklin!)

"Sure."

"See, those twins over there?" he directs her gaze to a pair of brunette twins, and Quinn nods.

"Yes. Which one do you want?"

"Both," he admits, before Angry, sort of Borderline Dominatrix Quinn re-appears, only to thwack him on the forehead painfully, and make him realize he's been standing in dog shit.

Great.

xxx

Logan Reese wants to die.

He will seriously stick forks in his eyes before agreeing to the date Quinn picked out for him. But he finds himself, wanting to go create a noose and just peacefully hang himself when he's awkwardly walking over to Stacy Dillsen, who's making one giant cotton swab out of many little ones. Okay, if he was about the twins, then that was low, but come, Stacy?!

"Hey," she looks up, and he wants to run. "Stacy."

"Oh, Logan! Hi!"

(Killmekillmekillme!)

"Uh, you…gotta (Oh, God. More word vomit. Ugh, Haley, why?) a date to the prom?"

"Well," Stacy answers, chipper, and then deflates with a, "No."

(Who cares about the swabs she spends her social life making things out of! He doesn't. Someone give him some rope. NOW!)

"But look, I'm building one enormous cotton swab out of lots of regular swabs."

"Yeah," is the only word he can put together. "Uhm, so," Cue Logan loosing his soul. His sanity is found and then lost again, right now. "…do you want to go to prom with me?" Wait, maybe, his soul has hope of not being sold. "Feel free to say no!"

She practically screeches her reply, and yes, Logan Reese looses his soul for prom.

(He's somewhat happy until he hears about Stacy's hairy big toes. Cringing for days.)

"It won't be that bad."

Oh, yeah. She's smiling now, is she? He dies a little inside, and so will she, after his picks her date.

"Yeah. Sure."

Grinning at her deviously, she knows that look in his eye, that devious, borderline evil glint in his eyes.

(Baby, it's like you don't know me at all.)

"Now," he smirks, returning to his seat across from her. That evil smirk only grows wider, and more smug. "Let's talk about your _prom_ date."

It'll be a nice a little journey to Prom Date Hell.

It's going to twistedly romantic.

xxx

"Would you like to go to the prom with me?"

"Okay," Dustin shrugs, half-eaten apple in hand. "But only because you're my sister's friend."

Taking a bite of his apple, he leaves and Quinn waves, with a tight smile masking her discomfort, and adds a sarcastic, "Thanks."

Oh, Logan is _so_ dead.

(She's deciding on whether it's literal or figurative.)

xxx

This is how Quinn and Logan's descent into Prom Hell, only gets deeper.

They wish they could just sneak off now. (Get the hell away as far as possible.)

Logan's dancing with a talkative Stacey, and Quinn's dancing with an unconscious Dustin who decides it's convenient to make noises that sound like underwater animals (what?).

(Yes. Falling off his bike just seems fun at the time.)

There's a swab in his ear, she then blows into it, and then she says he smells like cinnamon sticks before he knows what's happening, Stacy's attacking to his (handsome, quite coveted, even they can't have) face with her lips. That classifies as a form of rape, right? He's had enough, the Anger Management barrier taking as much as it can take.

"What's wrong?"

(What's wrong, you ask? Maybe Stacy has committed lip rape, touching lips that aren't meant for her?)

"I don't wanna kiss you!" (Three.)

"Why wouldn't want to kiss me?" (Two.) she asks, again. Stacy smiles, and shrugs lightly. "My lips are moist." (One.)

"BECAUSE I LOVE QUINN!"

And shit totally, and completely hits the fan. The music stops, and every person is looking at Logan.

Stacy genuinely sounds wounded, and hurt. Her voice is quiet, "What?"

"You love Quinn?"

(Yes! Oh God! Totally, madly, truly in love that it's eating away at him, bit by bit.)

He can only see Quinn's whose eyes are literally shining with alarm, the cards in her hand becoming forgotten. It doesn't matter. The fact his heart in his throat, and he almost (almost) feels like passing out doesn't matter. Logan nods, smile growing, to confirm what he already knows. What he hides from the school for the past couple of months. He turns around in her direction, and she stands. Even in a sparkling blue dress (he picks out – saying blue was "nice on you"), she still feels naked, like those prying eyes are going to tear into her. She smiles, the smallest of smiles, before Quinn gets ready to cry because it just seems natural.

"I LOVE QUINN PENSKY!"

Those words reach her ears, and go into her heart, and she feels like the luckiest girl in PCA. Tears are making an appearance for a totally different reason now.

(The world!)

Sharing relief, and love struck smiles, Quinn yells back, "AND I LOVE LOGAN REESE!"

(Yes, Dustin, they used you.)

In a fairytale ending such as this, they run to each other and meet in a kiss full of passion.

Pacific Coast Academy is in an uproar, and things will probably change.

(Oh, they will.)

Quinn Pensky and Logan Reese don't live happily ever after.

(But it's pretty damn close.)

* * *

**A/N: Wow, this was hard to write. I'm not happy with the ending, but it's 5 am and I'm bushed. I'm satisfied, I guess. I was determined to finish this and I did. Tell me how you think I did with more than just "cool", "awesome", and "update". You will definitely bum me out if you do this. So, yeah. With that being said, I'll be working on that Michael piece when I get some sleep. My brain is mush right now. Forgive me of errors you may find. I'm so sorry. **

**Haley, I hope you SQUEEE the loudest of all since this was all for you. I was happy to sacrifice sleep and write this fifteen page oneshot for you. Ha. Excuse the innuendo too. I was a tad out of it when I wrote and thought it was funny so I kept it, lol.**

**Reviews would be nice to get in the morning. **


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